Adagietto
by more-than-words
Summary: An evening of wine and conversation with Beth leads Ruth to decide it's time to bite the bullet and make some changes in her life. Finding the words she needs to make those changes, however, proves more than a little tricky.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Spooks belongs to Kudos/the BBC/people who are not in any way, shape or form, me. I'm just having some vaguely festive fun with it.

**A/N:** This was supposed to be a fluffy Christmas oneshot. As it turns out, it's now three chapters long, is not entirely fluffy and the fact it's set at Christmas is mainly just a vehicle for me to get some present-giving in there. I also overshot my self-imposed deadline for finishing it, so if you could all just pretend that it's last week while you're reading it, that would be lovely. It's set after the end of S9, so there are some spoilers, but not many.

I apologise for all the classical music geekery that abounds within this fic. It just sort of… happened. I hope you enjoy.

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"**Composers combine notes, that's all. The phenomenon of music is given to us with the sole purpose of establishing an order in things, including, and particularly, the coordination between man and time." – Stravinsky.**

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"I thought you were going to the opera tonight." Beth's voice cut into Ruth's very important task of standing next to the kitchen table and trying to decide what to do to pass the hours until she could sleep.

She looked up as Beth came in and dumped her stuff on the table. "Why? Were you hoping to engage in some questionable shenanigans in my flat while I'm out?"

"Perhaps. No. I just thought you wanted to go."

"I was thinking about it."

"But..?"

"Didn't really fancy going alone." She was surprised at her own honesty. She hated that doing things alone still bothered her as much as it did. She should be used to it by now, surely.

"I would've gone with you."

Ruth was pleased at the offer but slightly sceptical at Beth's response. "To a four-hour Monteverdi opera?"

Beth shrugged. "I could've taken some vodka and practiced a little espionage." She went over to the fridge and opened it, taking out a chilled bottle before moving to the cupboard by the sink and getting out a couple of glasses. "Speaking of alcohol, have some wine. I could drink alone, but I'd rather not. People might judge."

Ruth decided it was best not to question it. She didn't much like to drink on work nights, but sometimes these things just had to be done. 'These things' had been done on a fairly regular basis in the aftermath of the mess with Lucas and were happening ever more frequently in the run up to Christmas. "Okay."

Ruth watched while Beth poured the drinks and then took the offered glass, raising it in thanks. They wandered in the direction of the living room and Ruth was just making herself comfortable on the sofa when Beth spoke again, glass of wine in one hand, the rest of the bottle in the other.

"You know you could've persuaded Dimitri to go to the opera with you. Just turn his puppy dog eyes back on him for a change and I bet he'd be golden. Or Harry. Harry would've gladly gone with you." Her tone was soft, gently probing, encouraging. Beth had been trying to push her in his direction ever since the whole debacle with Albany and Lucas, and her attempts were getting ever less subtle the more Ruth pretended not to know what her flatmate was doing.

What Beth didn't know was that it was taking all of Ruth's willpower not to give in, and she was fast running out of excuses to avoid him.

"Harry offered." She didn't know why she'd told Beth that. Must have been the wine. Ruth drank some more to drown out the feeling of growing mortification, ignoring Beth's little smile of victory.

She remembered sitting at her desk on the Grid, looking at the leaflet advertising the performance of Monteverdi's _L'incoronazione di Poppea_, Harry catching her at it as he'd unexpectedly appeared at her side.

'_Are you going to see it?'_ _he'd asked her, not bothering with a greeting._

'_I haven't decided,' she'd replied. 'Probably not.' She didn't know why she'd said that. She really wanted to go._

'_You should,' he'd said. 'Isn't it the one with that beautiful aria near the end?'_

_She'd known instantly the one he meant. 'Pur ti miro?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Yes. It is. It's beautiful. Better than words can say.'_

_He'd nodded in agreement and smiled at her hopefully. 'If you don't want to go alone, you know you don't have to.' _

_He'd been sitting on the edge of her desk, looking down at her intently and it had been all she could do to keep her seat, when all she really wanted was to stand and wrap her arms around him, apologise and thank him for all kinds of things and tell him she wanted to marry him and that those horrible moments when she thought Lucas had killed him were some of the worst of her life. Luckily (or not), she was well practiced in the art of self-restraint._

Beth didn't seem bothered by the revelation that Harry had offered to go with her, instead casually refilling both of their glasses. She put down the empty wine bottle and headed off to get another. "But..?" she called from the kitchen.

"I turned him down," Ruth said, just loud enough to be heard.

"Why?"

"It's complicated." So complicated, just thinking about it necessitated the sinking of half her glass of wine in one go. And that was just the opera. She hated to think how much wine she'd need to deal with the complexity of turning down his marriage proposal all those months ago, or to make sense of him giving up a state secret for her, or to understand why she still insisted on keeping him at arms' length given all that had happened when she had told herself it was finally time to stop and just let him in. There probably wasn't enough Sauvignon Blanc in the entire world to deal with that.

Beth appeared back in the living room, holding a fresh bottle of wine and a corkscrew. "It doesn't have to be. It could've just been the opera."

"I only wanted to go for one aria, anyway. I can listen to it at home." She would, as well. Sometimes, she'd put that one aria on repeat and listen to it over and over, losing herself in the perfection of the timing and the counterpoint that went together so perfectly and the emotion that reflected everything she wanted to say to Harry but could never find the right words to explain in English.

"Right."

She found that once she started talking, she couldn't stop. "Plus it wouldn't have been 'just the opera'. It couldn't be." Nothing with her and Harry was ever 'just' anything; it was always something more, laden with things that couldn't be properly put into words. Sometimes Ruth thought that was a wonderful thing. Other times, she hated the lack of clarity and coherence, especially as she knew she was mostly to blame for the obfuscation. She just didn't know how to move away from it, as much as she wanted to.

"So why not let it be more?"

"It's complicated," she said again, not knowing how else to explain it without it taking all night. "And messy. And doing anything outside work with Harry would be liable to make things even more nonsensical than they currently are."

"Things are only ever what you make of them. It could have been a great opportunity." Beth's wine was going down with impressive speed.

Ruth sighed in defeat and regret. "Yes. It could've been. Instead, I just made things even worse when I was trying to make them simpler. That's all I ever do. I wish I could stop thinking."

"The day you stop thinking is the day the terrorists win."

"But that's work. Work is simple. I go to the office, I do my job, I do it well, then I come home again. I have no idea how to do the same for my personal life. I just keep confusing things and then feeling guilty for making a mess I can't see a way out of."

"Maybe that's the point, though," Beth said, words ever so slightly starting to slur. "It's not about sense, it's about getting through from one day to the next as simply as you can. Making yourself happy in any way you can until one day, it drowns out the guilt and you wonder why you ever found it complicated."

"Are you drunk, Beth, or wise?"

"I'd love to say the latter, but judging from the two bottles of wine we've just demolished, I fear it may well be the former. Either way…"

Ruth nodded. "Yes."

"The conclusion is that you should tell Harry that you love him." Beth may have been tipsy, but she was still clearly impressively savvy. She could also be relied upon to keep the conversation to herself. Luckily.

Ruth said, very quietly, "I'm not sure I know how."

"It's only three words. Four if you use his name. At most five, but only if he says it to you first and you have to say 'too' and you use his name. As in, _I love you too, Harry._ Except I don't love him, of course. But you do. I was doing you there."

"Beth, you're drunk."

"I'm still right. Three words, Ruth. Simple. Not at all complicated, really. Three words."

"But what if they're not enough?"

Beth shrugged. "They have to be." She leaned back against the arm of the sofa, eyes suddenly starting to close in the drunk's sleep. Her body was already relaxing as she slipped out of consciousness. The last thing she said was, "They're all we have."

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading. More Harry in the next chapter, I promise. Maybe review if you have time? I'd love to know if this actually works somewhere other than in my head… :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This chapter took a turn for the random and stayed there. Oops. Normal service will be resumed in the concluding part… And thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter. You're all brilliant.

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Ruth had woken the next morning with a slight headache as a reminder of her boozy night with Beth, but it was nothing a cup of tea, the paper and some toast couldn't cure before she went to work and got down to business.

Her conversation last night with Beth had struck a chord with her, made her see things with less of a haze despite the wine she had consumed. She wanted Harry. She did. She loved him. She wanted to be with him. It was as simple as that. Seeing him walk onto the Grid ten minutes after she arrived only cemented that view, especially when he flashed her a smile on his way to his office. She smiled back and felt lighter.

She wasn't going to think. She was just going to do it. It wouldn't do to do it at work, though. They had to be somewhere else to have The Conversation. She would ask him to meet her outside work so she could tell him she was sorry, and that she loved him, that nothing else mattered.

Simple. At least that was her plan. By the time mid-morning rolled around, she had only just worked up the courage to go into his office, and only then because she had a file she needed him to check and sign.

She shook her head, trying to chase away the doubts that had crept in as she sat hunched over her desk, working. Sometimes she thought that being an analyst should come with a warning for the way it made you obsess over your personal life as well as professional. She couldn't help it. As soon as she got her brain into gear to analyse counter-terrorism intelligence, she ended up over-thinking everything else, as well.

Time for that to stop, though. _Time to bite the bullet. Monteverdi, Ruth. Pretend you're Monteverdi. He knew how to deal with love._

She picked up the file and made her way across to Harry's office. _It's easy,_ she told herself. _All you have to do is say 'Harry, would you come for a drink with me? I need to talk to you about something.' You know he'll be so startled by it he won't be able to do anything but say yes. Do it._

Lost in thought and not looking where she was going, she walked straight into Harry's closed door. "Ouch." She rubbed her forehead with her free hand and slyly looked round, hoping no one had seen.

Everyone had. Beth gave her a slightly hung-over thumbs-up.

"Shit." Ruth smoothed down her skirt and tried to regain a little composure, then pushed open the door without knocking and went in. "Harry, I have a file for you."

"Did you just walk into my door?" He was sitting behind his desk, an amused smile on his face.

"No," she answered, too quickly. He knew. Bugger. She handed over the file as a distraction.

He took it and opened it, scanning the text.

Ruth clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. _Focus, Ruth, focus._ She was aware of Beth staring at her from across the Grid. She ignored her. She took a deep breath. "Harry."

He looked up from the paper and raised his eyebrows at her, encouraging her to continue.

"I was wondering if… Erm. I was thinking. Well, not thinking. Talking, actually. To Beth. Last night. Except that doesn't really matter. What matters is that I did some soul searching and I've realised now that this is the right thing to do and I hope you agree. It's not just because it's Christmas. It's everything, really. You are. The timing is… what it should be." Although her words were clearly a nonsensical mess, ruining the moment entirely.

Harry didn't say anything.

"Do you know what I mean?" She was dying inside, silently wishing for him to rescue her. _Fool._

He smiled – affectionately, she thought. "Not really, no," he said. "Do you want to sit down and start again?"

She stayed standing. "I'm just… a bit nervous."

Something shifted in his eyes then as she looked at him softly, willing him to understand. Something… good. Something like hope. "Go on, Ruth," he said, quietly. "Tell me."

She nodded and forced herself to keep her eyes open while she did it. "Harry, would you –"

She was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

"Bugger," he said, looking at the screen. "Bloody Home Secretary." He looked at her apologetically, then pointed at the chair opposite his desk. "You can…" He trailed off as he answered the call with a terse, "Yes?"

Ruth turned and walked out of the office. She thought a few minutes spent standing in silence on the roof and collecting herself while trying to determine whether or not embarrassment could be terminal sounded like a grand plan.

She didn't notice Beth continue to watch Harry after she left his office, waiting until he finished his phone call and then hurrying in to speak to him, shutting the door behind her.

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**A/N:** Final chapter will be up tomorrow (hopefully).


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Last chapter. Woo. More music geekery within… Hope it's okay!

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Why were the words never there when she needed them? All she'd had to say to him was _come for a drink with me so we can talk_. That was supposed to be the easy bit. How the hell was she going to get through the rest of it when she couldn't even get him alone to do it? Three little words, Beth had said; that was all she had to say. Three words, true, but that didn't take account of their magnitude. For that, there were no words.

The day after the office debacle – Christmas Eve - Ruth sat at her kitchen table, holding an empty tea mug. She hadn't seen Harry since she scarpered from his office; he'd disappeared off to a meeting when she finally forced herself back to work. She couldn't help feeling like she'd ruined everything all over again, even though she'd hardly even begun to try. She spoke multiple languages, and yet talking to Harry about anything other than work left her tongue-tied every time.

But words were all she had. Working up the courage to_ show_ him how she felt was another issue entirely, one she couldn't contemplate without laying the verbal groundwork beforehand.

God, she was useless. She wondered he didn't get fed up of her entirely.

"Ruth?" Beth came into the kitchen, dressed up to go out.

She smiled at her flatmate and swallowed down the sudden urge to cry.

If Beth noticed her watery smile, she didn't say anything. She wasn't really one for meaningless sympathy, for which Ruth was endlessly grateful.

"I'm off out," Beth said, slightly cryptically. And then, more cryptically, "If a man called Carlos phones, tell him I'll sort him out on Monday."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Best not."

"Okay."

"I'll be back on Boxing Day."

"Okay." Ruth wasn't thrilled at the idea of another Christmas spent alone, but she supposed she'd much rather spend it totally by herself than with someone else there to see her be sad and alone. There was logic there, somewhere.

Beth smiled a goodbye and then turned and walked down the hall. Ruth followed to watch her go.

Beth stopped just before she reached the front door and picked something up off the small table where they kept the post. "Before I forget," she said, "this was left for you." She held out a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon edged with gold.

Ruth took it. "Thanks." She looked at the small cardboard gift tag attached to the ribbon. Her name was scrawled on it, in Harry's handwriting. She tried to not to act too surprised, or too pleased, then gave up and smiled anyway. Maybe she hadn't completely buggered things up with her little performance in his office - or any of the other incomprehensible things she'd done lately.

"It was pushed through the letterbox," Beth said as she wound a scarf around her neck, clearly trying to sound innocent and failing.

"Thanks, Beth."

Beth said something about having to go and see a 'man about a thing' before heading off who-knew-where-else, then disappeared off out through the door with a wave and a, "There's a bottle in the fridge, if you want."

The endless supply of decent wine was one of the things that had originally made Ruth start to appreciate having Beth in the flat, and the appreciation had still not worn off. She thought about having a glass before opening the gift, but decided against it. The time it would take to go to the kitchen, fetch the wine and pour it was time she could be spending in a much more productive manner. Namely, ripping off the decorative ribbon and wrapping paper from her gift to see what was inside.

She unwrapped it standing in the doorway to the living room, too eager to wait until she reached the sofa. She pulled away the paper to find an unmarked CD in a clear plastic sleeve. A piece of ivory card had been placed inside along with the disk. She pulled it out, feeling the quality of the paper against her fingers, hands trembling for reasons she would not admit to. She held her breath as she read the short note written on the back.

_Ruth,_

_I hope more than anything that this isn't too presumptuous of me, but I think (hope) I know what you were trying to say in my office yesterday. Seeing as you made your effort, I think that means it's now my turn to try again._

_I know my choice of words (or lack thereof) hasn't always been what it should be and, more than that, my timing in matters of the heart is atrocious (as you well know). But his is immaculate, so I'll let him say it on my behalf, in the language that transcends all words. _

_I hope you like it._

He hadn't signed it, but then he didn't need to, although an explanation as to who 'he' was wouldn't have been unwelcome. Still clutching the paper, she slid the CD from its plastic wallet and took it to the complicated, expensive stereo Beth had bought not too long after she first moved in. Ruth spent a few moments working out how to turn it on, then put the disk into the little slot and pressed the play button.

She recognised the music within seconds of it starting, the gentle ascendance of strings so distinctive that it had stayed with her across decades. _The emergence of love_. The Adagietto from Mahler's Fifth Symphony spilled quietly from the speakers that were hidden on opposite sides of the room, the music filling her brain and overtaking her from all angles. She shut her eyes and clutched at the corner of the shelf that held the stereo, steadying herself against the wall of persistent, pianissimo strings and the sound of a musical heartbeat created by the gentle pulsating of a delicately plucked harp.

By the time the music reached the first climax a few minutes in, the tears that had sprung up behind her eyes were breaking free of her eyelids and slipping down her face unchecked. It was all too obvious what Harry meant by this gift, this _wonderful_ gift.

She knew the story; of course she did. This was the music Mahler had composed for his sweetheart. He had sent it to her and she had known simply from looking at the manuscript that he had meant it as a declaration of love, with the inclusion of a small poem that held the line -_ ich kann mit Worten dir's nicht sagen_. I cannot tell you in words. Saying with music the very thing that Ruth always found so impossible to put into words – just how nonsensical, consuming, powerful, amazing, scary, wonderful, _total_ was the rush of being in love. It was _everything_, but nothing that could be said, at least not adequately.

It was, she thought, a little similar to the feeling a person got looking up at the stars in the clear night sky, feeling the pull of the universe and being overwhelmed by the very magnitude of it all in comparison to your own smallness. Both beautiful and devastating and utterly, completely brilliant.

And Harry was right; the timing was perfect.

By the time the movement came to its end with the final, blissful, drawn out appoggiatura, Ruth was standing in a strange state of satisfaction and burgeoning contentment teamed with the remains of her years of indecision.

"Well?"

The voice – Harry's voice – that broke the ensuing silence came from the door behind her and her breath caught in her throat at the sound, the effect a mix of shock at not being as alone in her house as she thought she was and immense pleasure he was there, obliterating the last of her doubts in a single syllable. She turned away from the stereo to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, his stance casual but his face a picture of tension and nerves.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, not quite knowing what to do with him there while her mind was so full of thoughts she hadn't had time to consider.

"Beth let me in," he said, as though it mattered.

Ruth nodded and made an indeterminable noise of agreement. She suspected that Beth had done rather more than just let him in. She'd have to thank her later.

"You know, you're lucky I went with Mahler," Harry went on, clearly talking just for the sake of filling the silence. "After some considerable internal debate and several ill-advised whiskeys, I almost went with a Take That song."

She couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her. "Which one?" she asked.

Harry shrugged and dropped his arms down to his sides. "How am I supposed to know? I was going to ask Tariq for a list of their song titles but then I thought you'd probably appreciate the Mahler better."

She nodded. "I definitely appreciate the Mahler better."

"Do you…" He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. "Do you know the story?"

"Of the Adagietto from the Fifth? Of course."

He smiled softly. "I thought you would."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes."

"It's everything I've ever wanted to say to you, but more eloquent than I could ever hope to be." She was astonished at her own forthrightness, but she instantly felt a lot better for it.

He waited, watching her intently.

She forced herself to hold his gaze. "I could learn every language in the world and still not have a word for what this is." She gestured between their bodies, knowing he would know what she meant. "But music… And I agree, Harry. The timing is impeccable."

"Is it?"

"Yes." Oh God, it really was.

"Good. That's… good." He nodded.

Neither of them moved. They stood on opposite sides of the room, openly staring at each other. Ruth suspected that her own expression must mirror Harry's; complete awe and shock that they seemed to be somehow on the same page at the same time. And a good page, at that. The very best.

"It's very good," Harry said after a pause so long Ruth had to think for a moment to remember what he meant.

She nodded. "I agree."

"Well, are we going to do anything about it or are we just going to stand here until Beth gets back?"

It was blissfully simple. "Come here, Harry."

He did, stopping about a foot in front of her, still wearing his coat. "Now what?" he asked, a little smile playing on his lips.

She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him, grasping the lapels of his coat to pull herself up to meet him. His hands went to her hips, steadying her, and she could feel the skin of his palms, warm and firm, through her skirt. She made sure to keep her eyes open so she could be sure it wasn't a dream.

When they parted, he kissed her forehead and pulled her into his arms for a bear hug. She hugged him back, arms sliding under his jacket and squeezing as tight as she could.

"Is this it, Ruth?" he mumbled into her hair. "Is this really it?"

She nodded, awkwardly, because her head was stuck under his chin. "I believe so, yes."

He kissed her forehead again, the shape of his smile evident against her skin. "Now what?" he whispered, in a tone of voice that left her reeling.

Ruth gripped him tighter and glanced towards the stereo. "Let's play it again," she said. "Again and again. Let's never stop."

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**A/N: **Erm… yes. The end. Hope you liked it! Thanks for reading.


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